Proud of You Still
by MagicalMysteryPhantom
Summary: It wasn't your fault, Will told himself. It was nobody's fault. Even if that was true, he couldn't help but let his thoughts wander. If only he'd come sooner. If only she hadn't followed his instructions so well. . . . One-shot.


**A/N:** I've had the idea for this angsty one-shot bouncing around in my head for a couple of days now. I hope I did it justice.

* * *

 _This is erosion_

Will woke slowly, or rather, slowly became aware of the world around him.

 _Grinding up rocks with your molars_

He'd fallen asleep on the veranda again, leaning up against Sable. The loyal dog, knowing her master would wake at the slightest fidget, hadn't moved. Now she saw him stir and licked his face in greeting. He didn't respond, just stared out into the early morning.

 _I see your eyes in the flowers_

 _I'll pick a bunch for your room_

He mentally shook himself and stood. He didn't go in yet, just closed his eyes and imagined the sound of pots and pans clattering. Imagined that he was about to go in, sit at the table, and raise an eyebrow at Maddie.

Maddie.

 _You looked so good in green_

 _I hope you're well_

He sighed and reopened his eyes, letting his hand rest on Sable's head. He wouldn't be seeing Maddie today, nor tomorrow, nor the next day. If only he'd—

 _It wasn't your fault,_ Will told himself. _It was nobody's fault._ Even if that was true, he couldn't help but let his thoughts wander. If only he'd come sooner. If only she hadn't followed his instructions so well. . . .

He sighed. She had done everything right.

He left Sable behind and faced the door. Entry was inevitable, even though he'd avoided the small cabin for the past two weeks. Sighing, he turned the handle and stepped in.

 _Mess in the kitchen. . . ._

The kitchen was a mess. It was the only part of the cabin he'd used, preferring to sleep outside and sit in the rocking chair on the veranda. A messy pile of papers were thrown haphazardly onto the small dining table. His few dishes were unwashed, a mug of half-drunk coffee rested on the table, and the coffee pot lay on the floor—he'd probably thrown it there. Slowly, as if in a dream, he picked it up, rinsed it out, then set it on the stove.

He took a seat in one of the straight-backed chairs, not bothering to clean up any more than what he had. He avoided looking at the closed door in the hallway—and, likewise, the open one, with its sheets strewn all over.

"What did I do wrong?" he wondered aloud. "How am I such a . . . failure?"

 _I was so disappointed_

 _I guess I got to my head_

The coffee was done. Will rinsed out the mug that was on the table and poured fresh coffee into it. It was good, but all it seemed to do was strengthen his feelings of self-hate.

"I put too much stock in myself," he muttered, pacing the room. "I should've gotten help . . . I knew it was dangerous, I should've realized that I couldn't have handled it, let alone an apprentice. . . ."

 _I get it now that it's too late_

 _I never stopped feeling guilty_

Will fairly threw the empty cup onto the counter with the other dishes. He sat back down at the table and shuffled through the papers, sorting them into a neater pile and removing the top few from the stack. They were all attempts at the same letter.

 **Your Majesty,**

 **While I am honored by the offer to speak at the service for Princess Madelyn, I am afraid**

again—

 **Your Majesty,**

 **Evanlyn,**

 **Thank you for offering me the honor of speaking at Maddie's bur**

again—

 **Your** **Majesty,**

 **While tempted by the offer posed, I have to refuse. I happen to be busy with**

again—

 **Horace—**

 **I don't really have the words to tell you how I feel. I know it must be nothing compared to you and Evanlyn. I have to refuse your offer. I'm sorry, I just**

Then the beginning of a different letter—

 **Halt—**

 **I know you will be leaving for Castle Araluen soon. While there, could you please tell Horace and Cassandra why I've turned down their offer? I just can't stop feeling guilty, like it was my fault, like**

Will looked at each of these letters in turn, then groaned and slumped down onto the table. He knew he couldn't attend. The pain it would bring, to talk about her, about her bravery, to see her grave—

He got up abruptly and left the cabin. Sable stood up when he opened the door, her tail wagging, begging for attention, but he ignored her and headed to the stable. Bumper's stall was empty—he'd dropped the pony off at Bob's earlier in the week. It was too painful to see him look up hopefully every time Will entered the stable.

Now he brushed Tug, running the stiff bristles through his hair over and over. It helped to take his mind off things if he just focused on combing the tangles out, on putting as much effort into it as he could.

 _Why the long face?_

Will didn't respond. He just kept brushing, knowing if he really worked, he wouldn't have to think. About the mission. About her. About Maddie. Maddie.

Tug shifted from one leg to the other. _You need to shave._

Absentmindedly, Will ran a hand through his beard. It was longer than normal, he supposed. He hadn't trimmed it since before the mission.

 _Not trim. Shave. That growth on your face is horrifying._

Will looked at his horse in surprise. "It's not that bad, is it?"

Tug snorted. _Maybe not. But at least I got you to talk. You haven't spoken to me for two weeks._

Will smiled in spite of himself. "Sorry, boy," he said. His smile faded. "I just miss her so much."

Tug tossed his head. _So what are you going to do about it?_

"Do about it?" Will rubbed his forehead. "Nothing. There's nobody to chase because it was my fault. And since it was my fault, I—I can't face Horace and Evanlyn, or—or—"

 _No_ _. It was not your fault._

"There's no one else to blame."

 _Blame anything! Blame the weather! Blame me! But it was in_ _no way_ _your fault._

Will shrugged. "Whatever. I just—I can't help feeling that I should've known about the reinforcements, or that I shouldn't have left her by herself, or—"

Tug pawed at the ground. _There was no way you could have known. There's always something that goes wrong in a plan._

"But it had to be that?" Will had set the brush down now, and was wringing his hands in anguish. "As a Ranger, I need to be able to plan for every eventuality! I failed to plan, and I failed her, and now she's dead!"

The word hung in the air like a disease, and left a foul taste in Will's mouth. After several seconds, it was Tug who broke the silence.

 _You keep talking about how you caused her death. Is that all you think about? Weren't you proud of her in life?_

"Of course," Will said. He felt tears well up in his eyes. "Immeasurably proud."

 _Then don't think about you. Think about her._

So he thought about her. How brave she was, even when she was faced by insurmountable numbers. Her stubbornness, refusing to admit weaknesses, refusing to give up. The compassion that had grown from seemingly nowhere, the care she took with Bumper, her willingness to learn. . . .

The tears fell freely.

 _I'm proud of you still._

"I just wish she was still here," Will whispered.

 _I know._

"What am I supposed to do?"

 _Maybe go help your friends._

Will looked Tug in the eyes. His little horse was serious. "What do you mean?"

 _They feel the same way you do. They want to hear you talk about her, they want a confirmation of her bravery. It's the least you can do for them, isn't it? After all, they gave her to you._

Will nodded slowly. "I think you're right," he said, his voice thick with tears. "I owe them this."

 _Shave first, though. Or at least trim._

"I'll go do that now."

Will left the stable and headed back to the cabin. It wasn't a very long walk, but the thoughts that accompanied him stretched it to twice the length of time.

Sable didn't get up to greet him as he ascended the steps of the veranda. She opened one eye as he approached, then closed it as he passed her.

Now Will affected to notice the mess that was his kitchen. He wrinkled his nose disdainfully, but passed it and walked down the small hall, where two doors met him: one opened and one closed. He pushed open the closed door and walked in.

It was slightly dusty in the unused room. The bed was made, but not perfectly, as if whoever had made it had been in a hurry. A green woolen shirt spilled out of the closet.

Will stood in the center of the room, slowly spinning. The room practically reeked of her essence, and it was almost too much for him to stand. But it was also all he had left of her, so he stayed for several more seconds before leaving, stepping over the green shirt to get to the door.

 _You looked so good in green_

 _I hope you're well_

He looked in the mirror to trim his beard, something he wouldn't have done in the past. Seeing his own face, which he hadn't in several days, just reminded him of hers in inexplicable ways. The way her hair wasn't brown, it was blond. How her eyes were green, not his brown. The way her teeth were perfectly straight, instead of slightly crooked like his. . . .

 _I miss your perfect teeth_

 _I was too blunt_

 _I hope you feel happy_

 _That's all that I want_

He packed a few things—the formal uniform Crowley had designed so many years ago, food, a tent, a blanket, and other camping necessities. He rolled up what didn't fit in his satchel or saddlebags and tied it onto Tug's back, then saddled him up.

 _We're leaving already?_

"Better now than never," Will replied. He went back to the cabin, knowing he was missing something.

His mandola. Taking it off the mantle, he strapped it onto Tug's back as well, then mounted.

 _I just gotta sing it out of me_

Will lightly touched his feet to Tug's side, and they were off.

 _Feeling better, then?_

Will shrugged. "Not really," he answered. "And I still think it was my fault. But . . . she was brave, you know? And I want other people to know."

 _You looked so good in green_

Will sighed. "Mostly her parents. Horace and Cassandra are probably wrecks right now. They deserve the comfort I can give them."

 _I hope you're well_

"And . . . I'm so proud of her." Will struggled to find the right words. "I might never be happy again, but at least I know she's worth my tears. That's something to tell Horace and Cassandra. I could never be prouder of another person."

 _And I'm proud of you still._

"I just. . . ." Will sighed again. "I hope I can make her proud."

* * *

 **A/N:** The song lyrics are _Green_ by Cavetown, definitely go check it out, it's a great song. Thanks for reading!


End file.
